What Seunggyeom had said had piqued Mok-young’s curiosity. He knew Hae-gang had reached quite a high realm, but it was only guessed at by eye, and a warrior’s instinct wriggled, wanting to cross swords directly and confirm. On another hand, there was also the interest that only then could he better understand Hae-gang’s condition. He’d felt with his own body how hot and great his yang energy was, but that was no way to grasp the shape of its operation and flow.
No. Perhaps all of that was a fine-sounding excuse. Perhaps he wanted to barge, unannounced, into Hae-gang’s daily life — the times he wasn’t there, the times he didn’t know.
“Wife, did I… do something wrong?”
The words that came from Hae-gang’s mouth after a long while were utterly off-topic. Rather than feeling burdened at sparring with the Ghost King who’d perfected the Hyeonsin Art, his tone was of one first checking whether he’d done something to be scolded.
“Well. How about being scolded while you think about it.”
Mok-young answered calmly as well. Hae-gang’s faux-serious furrowed brow looked quite adorable, and Mok-young let out a soft laugh.
“You may go, Lord Yun. I’ll take it from here.” While Hae-gang was absorbed in pondering his wrongdoing, Mok-young said to Seunggyeom. A consideration for a subordinate in trouble could be felt in the gentle tone. But Seunggyeom hesitated to leave at that answer, as was natural — he wanted to watch the two spar. That he had afternoon plans, as he’d told Hae-gang, was not merely an excuse but true, which made Seunggyeom quite regretful.
“Thank you, General. Then… please go easy.”
Seunggyeom offered a polite bow. The subtly trailing words were, in their way, his worry for our prince. Hae-gang flared up at once — “Are you doubting me now?” — and Seunggyeom promptly fled.
“Huh. The guard captain flees quickly.”
Watching Seunggyeom’s retreating back grow distant, Hae-gang said. His tone was light — he was clearly enjoying himself, not truly scolding. Before his wife, Hae-gang was whining.
With the guard captain gone, the most dependable wife in the world was at his side — in this moment, no one who came could harm Hae-gang. So it was fair to see it as banter.
“And asking to go easy. What becomes of my dignity?”
“He said that thinking of your dignity. What if you truly hurt yourself—”
“Ah. What dignity would be lost? That you are the supreme is known to heaven and earth. Even if I crumble in a single bout, just being able to cross swords with you is an honor, Lord General.” At Hae-gang’s words — his mouth alive as ever — Mok-young couldn’t help another laugh, watching Hae-gang unclasp his hands from behind his back, join them before him, and offer an exaggerated bow.
“Then, I’ll do my best.”
“No, um… if possible, go easy.”
“I can’t, thinking of your honor.”
There wasn’t much sincerity in it. Watching Mok-young’s back as he stepped away, a smile spread across Hae-gang’s lips.
Hae-gang had always thought he’d like to spar with Mok-young once. Though he hardly considered himself a warrior, his discernment ran deep, so there was a pure curiosity. But what tickled a corner of Hae-gang’s chest in this moment wasn’t mere inquisitiveness or a competitive spirit.
This instant — Mok-young accepting him and naturally blending into his daily life — pleased Hae-gang. He’d been a little worried whether facing the absolute yin being who’d reached the supreme realm would strain his body, but he’d pushed such worry away without a trace of it showing. He didn’t want to spoil this fluttering feeling.
Hae-gang wanted to fully enjoy the present goodness. With his habit of not thinking about the distant future, the present being good was meaning enough in itself.
At least one thing had now become certain fact: his wife — the moments with him — were good.
In one bout, the earth rumbled; in one bout, a gale blew; in one strike, terror descended.
Dan Mok-young’s swordsmanship was heavy, yet never slow. The martial art of the supreme who’d mastered the Hyeonsin Art, honing physical ability to its extreme — indeed, in every way it far surpassed the human range. Monstrous strength that could cleave Mount Tai, lightning-swift speed. All of it bore down, seeking to overwhelm Hae-gang.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Sword-cries like a fierce waterfall, yet clear, rang through the training ground, and Go Hae-gang and Dan Mok-young flashed east and west, making this wide space their own room. However wide Yeolliwon was, it wasn’t as wide as plains beneath the sky — yet for ordinary folk it would be more than vast enough for two to cross swords alone. But for the two who, not content with crossing the space, soared through the high empty air contesting for dominance, it was a space as limited as someone’s palm.
Go Hae-gang flitted lightly, as if not knowing his feet touched the ground, pouring out sword energy like driving rain as he pressed in with rapid attacks, while Dan Mok-young stood firm yet advanced, bout by bout, refreshingly — meeting Hae-gang drawing lines as heavy as they were clean and sharp.
If Go Hae-gang was like a master calligrapher’s style dashed off in a single stroke, Danmok was like an ink-wash painting — a brush heavy with ink advancing rough yet graceful.
KWAANG—!
The moment the two swords collided, fierce sword energy crashed with a huge, air-rending blast. At once a violent wind spread in all directions, reaching in a flash even the trees walling the training ground like a barrier, shaking them as if to sway. The bare branches rattled against each other with a bleak sound, but it didn’t enter the two’s minds at all.
Hae-gang had just blocked Mok-young’s downward strike with his sword held crosswise. He’d blocked the pouring attacks, and redirected the last strike’s force well, thinking he’d caught Mok-young’s opening — but lunging for that opening, he’d been counterattacked instead. He hadn’t expected Mok-young, whose attacks fell heavy as a collapsing mountain, to switch stances so swiftly — truly admirable.
Truly, a man worthy of being called the Ghost King.
Though his sword-gripping hand trembled finely with the considerable, still-lingering shock even after redirecting the force, Hae-gang thought this, grinning crookedly. Looking steadily at his wife’s face, still half-covered by the mask, his chest trembled.
It had been long for Hae-gang — meeting an opponent who overwhelmed him like this. Since some point, there’d been no one he could call a rival, yet who’d have known his spouse from a distant land would be this strong, blocking his path? Though it had been foreseen since he heard Dan Mok-young would be his spouse, perhaps he’d been longing for this instant in a corner of his heart since then. Though he didn’t call himself a warrior, it seemed Go Hae-gang’s nature too held a competitive spirit that boiled at seeing the strong.
Moreover, that one so strong was his wife — he even felt oddly proud. Having experienced that strength firsthand, was it not something to make the family’s boast?
“Wife, what did I do so wrong? Rather… couldn’t you explain it in words?” Though his sword-gripping hand felt heavily pressed and a drop of cold sweat trickled by his temple, Hae-gang’s grin wouldn’t fall. He even threw a jest. His slightly trembling voice carried delight — he looked like an excited child.
But his inner self maintained a calm like a still, silent lake.
The Juyang Divine Art’s specialty was drawing all things’ energy into one’s own flow, overwhelming even its origin. Like flowing water, like blowing wind, harmonizing with all things, finally becoming a great flame devouring everything. Go Hae-gang calmly ordered his energy, intending to take even the vast yin energy flowing from Dan Mok-young as nourishment for his yang energy, to become the sky that would devour that mountain and pour down.
“As I recall, last night too I only held your hand and slept—”
Kkigik—. Kkigi—. A shrill sound like scraping metal grating as it slid scratched at the eardrums, and the next moment Hae-gang threw another mischievous jest and vanished before Mok-young’s eyes. In the space of a blink. Deflecting the opposing sword’s force sideways and taking it as springboard, Hae-gang leapt lightly, tapped Mok-young’s sword tip with his foot, and soared higher. As Mok-young raised his head, Hae-gang’s body spun round; the two’s eyes met, and at once Hae-gang passed behind Mok-young, extending an empty hand to strike his wife’s back with a palm.
But once caught in Mok-young’s sight, the attack couldn’t land so easily. Mok-young turned at once, raising his inner power in that short gap, lifted his hand to meet Hae-gang’s hand — and another heavy KUNG! boom rang out, and the ground shook.
They’d clearly pushed each other away, yet the two’s hands stuck together as if pressed face to face. Normally, the palm force aimed at each other would repel each other, or else drive into the two’s bodies whole and cause internal injury. But it was neither. The palm force that burst out in an instant spread outward like a fast-spreading wildfire, raising a gale while splitting clean in two a standing tree that had been beautifully landscaped.
Mok-young had stood firm and bounced Hae-gang’s force away, and Hae-gang, with his own energy returning as headwind along with Mok-young’s force, had hurriedly redirected his energy flow to escape the crisis. The two’s full force followed the erupting yang energy and struck the tree whole — however deep-rooted the great tree, it couldn’t but split in half. Even so, Hae-gang felt a crushing weight, as if his feet were being buried into the ground.
It was nearly a moment of great danger for Hae-gang. Had he truly taken the full headwind, bearing the two’s energy whole, into his own body, he’d surely have suffered fatal injury and coughed blood. Mok-young naturally knew such force dynamics, but he also knew Hae-gang could handle it.
*Far more… than ordinary energy, as I’d guessed.* Mok-young too was inwardly admiring Hae-gang’s inner power. Gauging Hae-gang’s realm by eye versus actually trading bouts were clearly different. Despite Mok-young’s vast experience facing masters, Hae-gang’s realm had points that surprised him moment by moment.
How desperate he must have been.
Mok-young naturally came to think this. Hae-gang had said it: when he had strength he trained in martial arts; when he didn’t, he read every book on the divine arts he could find. His explanation had been brief and calm, but Mok-young knew the fierceness soaked into it. And now, in this moment, he could feel on his skin that Go Hae-gang’s strength was the fruit of his struggle to live.
If he could obtain Jujak’s essence…
Then, he might preserve his life — but after that, how high a realm could he reach? Mok-young was curious about Hae-gang’s limits, and a fundamental curiosity about the Juyang Divine Art was nestled in it too.
The two divine arts, handling opposing energies, held a point of opposition that could never be overcome. That is, when Hae-gang, bearing Jujak’s essence, reached the same level of realm as Mok-young — that point of opposition where they could truly, keenly contend — as a warrior, Mok-young found it intensely interesting.
Though he’d traded dominance with Namwi’s generals many times, and there’d been quite a few skilled ones among them, Mok-young was now realizing anew: there had been no one who’d truly awakened the Juyang Divine Art. Meeting “the real thing,” the difference between the two divine arts struck him so starkly that the urge to drive to their very ends welled up on its own.
“Your mouth is the problem.”
But. Admiration was admiration, and the swords weren’t yet sheathed. Mok-young’s eyes narrowed, and a scolding remark dropped from his mouth. And the next moment, fierce contest broke out between the two again.
How much more time passed.
The two’s swords meshed, drawing several circles as they spun, then slipped past with a swish and fell; the ground gouged though sword tips didn’t touch, wind blew in, and Hae-gang’s hair, tied half-up and flowing prettily, flew. In that instant Mok-young switched stances at once — then abruptly stopped moving.
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